PTSD Night Time.

I used to hide until I could pass out and wake up when it seemed brighter and less dangerous. Till the feet on the floorboards stomping loudly finally came to an end. Until the voices stopped accusing and name calling. Till it would pass and we would have a few days to embrace the false sense of security that lay like a week glass over the monsters that rumbled under our world. Every time in adulthood when the night came around, I loved the safety of the peace far away from the monsters. Every time it was rattled, I felt betrayed, especially when the brain couldn't process the thoughts the same way, waking up every day not knowing how to  think anymore, what new survival tools existed to keep me going. The world looked different and the new brain made me even more askew than the odd earthquake seizures that shook the rug out from under us. Frustration of helplessness and absolute exhaustion compounded by his frustration of not mattering when it wasn't convenient for my brain to be able to handle the needs of anything beyond survival. All of the guilty monsters eating at me for not being good enough to feel too hard and  remind me that they were always there, now eating at him every night too.  So I would hide in the night. Like I did as a child. Shut it all out. All of the bad monsters. Until now when the closet got too full of other new nightmares to hide them.